


Can't or Won't

by OrangeZest100



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 19:53:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeZest100/pseuds/OrangeZest100
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the FYSL fic exchange on Tumblr, for the user germangirlssayja.</p><p>Prompt 1: “we are not equals. you know that.”- lucifer</p><p>Prompt 2: I made you perfectly</p><p>Set in a Season 5 AU with some implied Destiel, kind of angsty fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't or Won't

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, I made myself cry.

            The motel room is dark; not surprising considering that it’s 1 AM and the blinds are closed, but dark all the same.  There’s only a single bed, Dean has been booking separate rooms since Castiel; Sam still isn’t sure what’s going on with that, but he doesn’t mind at all.  Not that he could say so at the moment, asleep as he is, and he rolls onto his stomach under the covers of his bed, wrinkles his nose as hair falls across his face.  Fingers reach out slowly, carefully, and pull the hair back from the Winchester’s face.  Sam smiles slightly in his sleep, his breath warm against the skin of Lucifer’s thigh.  Their clothes are scattered across the floor and if one wished to risk the wrath of an archangel, they could check and know that Sam is naked.  Lucifer sits at the head of the bed in nothing but his boxers, staying out of the blankets to keep his chill from the human who is pleasantly slumbering away.  The sores aren’t bad yet, but they both know that the injuries will only get worse as Nick degenerates; they don’t talk about the word ‘yes’.  Lucifer sighs again, feels the push and pull of air inside of his vessel, inside of him since he’s burned Nick out, and runs his fingers through Sam’s hair in a caress.  “I’m sorry Sam,” Lucifer whispers, quiet enough not to wake the Winchester but within the range of human hearing if anyone was around to listen. 

            “We’re not equals, you know that.  It’s not in the way you think Sam, how could it be?”  He sighs again, pauses as Sam shifts before petting his hair again and continuing.  “You’re smart and kind beyond belief; your smile rivals that of the most beautiful seraphs.  Your eyes scrunch up when you’re angry, making these lines beside your eyes; you wipe your hands on your thighs when you know I’m invisible in a room with Dean there and he’s making fun of you.  You’re angry and happy, riddled with pitfalls of self-worth, and so, so desperately human. I love the way you half-grumble insults at me before morning coffee.  I love your dedication to your brother that is so much more beautiful than my own to mine.  I love how on laundry day you wear boxers that are frayed and a bit too small under too loose jeans that sag low on your hips even with a belt.  I love the little frown you give when I say something you don’t approve of, and the smile you give when I say something you do.  I love the way you only, truly cry in front of me, and how when you do, you cry like the world is breaking.  I love how you’ll only whisper secrets in the dark, like sunlight will break them; I love how if I begged, you’d give this secret of us up to Dean in a heartbeat.”

            Lucifer sighs again, scrubs his face to trace along his stubble, staring into the dark.  When he speaks again, his voice is but a murmur.  “You are perfect.  I made you perfectly; _my Father_ made you perfectly.  How can I even compare?  How I can I even think of snuffing that out, suppressing the perfection of you?”  He takes a deep breath.  “How can I ask you to keep this, us, from the ones you love?  I’m sorry Sam, I’m so sorry.”  He kisses the human on his forehead.  The Devil stands, let’s his hand remain softly on the bedspread for a moment before he lifts it to turn away, but there’s a thin pressure there.  He looks back and Sam has him by the wrist; he’s still mostly asleep and his hold would be simple to break, but Lucifer doesn’t want to, he really would rather not.

            “You’re going,” Sam asks, his voice is so sleep slurred it’s barely recognizable, but he doesn’t let go of Lucifer’s hand until the archangel is seated again.  “Stay,” he mumbles and Lucifer is helpless to resist that voice, deep and laden with sleep, almost childish in its honesty, and he returns to his previous sitting position with an extra slump to his shoulders that has nothing to do with nonchalance.  He doesn’t know he’s crying until Sam’s suddenly more awake, cradling Lucifer’s head in his massive hands.  “Luke, hey,” he whispers, presses his own kiss to Satan’s forehead, “what’s wrong, come on.”  Lucifer pulled his head away, made his body posture stiff; he couldn’t do this, couldn’t explain this aloud to the Winchester.  “Don’t you dare Luke; don’t you dare close yourself off, not to me, okay?  What’s going on?  What happened?”  Lucifer feels almost worse because Sam thinks someone died, whether it’s his family or Lucifer’s own, and the guilt is shredding what’s left of his grace into pieces.  Lucifer just shakes his head, but he cries harder; doesn’t shake or sob, just bigger tears flowing faster from his eyes and he burns with the humanity of them, from what he is denied, but Sam’s moving Lucifer’s head back towards him, kissing away the tears and continuing with light kisses all over his face, down his neck, onto his chest, until Lucifer’s soft under him but no matter how the archangel tries he can’t stop crying.

            “Sam, I…”  He can’t get the words out, and Sam is being so gentle like he’s the one that will break, but Lucifer was broken so long ago that he doesn’t think he can break anymore.  Lucifer forces more air into his lungs.  “I c-can’t Sam. I…”  Sam stops kissing, leans back, but his hands don’t move from their light hold on the archangel’s hips.  “I can’t defeat Michael like this.  I can’t take you.”  Lucifer quickly grabs Sam’s face, gives him a firm kiss and before Sam can respond he pulls away, rests his chin on the top of Sam’s head while his hands stroke his shoulders.

            “Can’t or won’t?”

            “Both; forever and always will the answer be both.”  Satan kisses the top of Sam’s head.  “I cannot have you keep this from your family Sam.  I—I won’t let you watch me decay.”  Sam tucks his huge frame up against Lucifer’s chest.

            “We can find a way to stop it, there has to be a way…”  Luke can tell by the hitch in the hunter’s voice that now they’re both crying.

            “There isn’t.”

            “We’ll find one.”  There’s that determination that Lucifer is starting to appreciate in the human race, that hope, multiplied by billions in the Winchester brothers when they set their minds to something.  Sam pulls away from him with a look of determination but his gaze softens eventually; he pulls back the covers and drags Lucifer down to lay beside him before returning the blankets to the right position.  “Stay,” he murmurs into Lucifer’s neck from where he’s burrowed a place in the archangel’s side, one of his arms thrown over angelic hips.  “We’ll tell Dean and Cas tomorrow.”


End file.
